tinfoildresses Summer 2009

Green Bathed in kale the leafy shoulders vessel you beseeched in your mother’s old stainless, turning hue as a tinted forest.

You drew first on restless sheets of blaring paper from your father’s printer before the Market Economy had meaning, and marker dyes left their scent.

Like a window steeping folds of earth indoors after rain. When the eyes of the clouds spewed from the pot did you return?

Or forget, in the moment I strained you-out with the rest of the trees grinning, disastrously, through the meal like a young Pan in trance.